The Legacy of Oderon: Dominion of the Throne -Indefinite Hiatus-
by RichardHusky
Summary: The next monarch of Drangleic is here. (The Dark Souls character list doesn't have DSII characters, so here are the characters for this story, minus the OC main character. [The Emerald Herald] [Lucatiel of Mirrah] [Nashandra] )
1. The Awakening

_In the hidden valley of the Things Betwixt, the cursed undead arrive with a purpose that, even to them, is unknown. They travel towards a goal that they have no knowledge of, and none have ever stayed sane for long, turning into the feral and savage Hollows that roam this land, known by the old ones as t__he kingdom of Drangleic. Once led by the great King Vendrick, the kingdom has fallen to monsters, demons and corrupted gods under new order._

_Once in a millennia, an undead is chosen to take lead over the rest to do something extraordinary. One such undead has trekked from the lands afar to attain his destiny, as few others have done before him, and crush all who oppose his dominion. _

_The Dominion of the Throne._

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><p>Darkness was all that could be seen. An empty void that was blanketed by a seemingly endless sleep.<p>

But then, he awoke.

The new arrival to the kingdom of Drangleic clenched his fists as he was ripped suddenly from his slumber. His face lay against the freezing stone of a shrine in the middle of a dense forest. He was clad in armor of steel, fur and dyed cloth. He opened his tightly closed eyelids and peered through the slits in his helmet. It was night, or so it appeared to be, as a powerful source of dark magic could mask the presence of light, as could the opposite. He opened his hands and pushed himself up so that he could stand, his bones cracking as he extended his legs fully. The wind blew heavily against him.

He pushed onward.

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><p>Eventually, he stumbled upon a small cottage. He saw it from across the rickety bridge that he was now crossing. It swayed from his every step, creaking with his every movement. The board below his left foot cracked in half, and he steadied himself quickly, as not to descend into the murky waters underfoot.<p>

When he finished crossing, the realization of dirt and stone below him relieved his thoughts of any nervous feeling. He continued towards the cottage and walked up its stone steps. He felt a powerful presence emanating from within its walls, causing him to hesitate with his hand on the door's knob. A being with such great power could likely sense his presence as well, so there was no point in letting his hesitation get the better of him. He turned the knob and opened the door.

Inside was a blazing fireplace, and several figures in blood-red robes. As if they were one being, all four of them looked up at precisely the same moment. Three of them sat around a rickety wooden table, while the fourth faced the fireplace, seated in a rocking chair made of oak. Above the fireplace was a dirty, cracked mirror.

The figure at the head of the table appeared to be most interested in the man who had just stumbled into the cottage. As he looked closer, he noticed that all of the figures were women, and they were very, very old. Ancient, even.

"What is this?" The head woman asked, curious.

The man raised his hands to his steel helmet and, after a brief moment of hesitation, he removed it.

"Ooh, my! Your face." She said.

The man had the face of a Hollow, his skin shriveled and cracked, and as dry as bone.

"The face of the curse. It's an Undead." She said. "An Undead has come to play. Heh heh…"

The man clenched his muscles, but was unsure why. The women before him all held a magnificent power, so one could guess that he was...

...Intimidated.

"They all end up here, all the ones like you…" She continued. "You're finished. You'll go Hollow. You will become one of them. Hollows prey upon men, feast upon their souls. This is the fate of the cursed."

The Undead and the woman locked eyes for the briefest of moments.

"What is your name?" She asked.

The Undead was about to say his answer when he realized something.

He didn't have the answer.

He thought long and hard, and searched his brain for a full minute. Suddenly, he knew.

"Oderon..." He said in a raspy, deep voice. "...I am... Oderon."

The woman chuckled. "At least you know your own name." She said. "Here's your reward for sharing."

She reached into her pocket with her withered hand and pulled out a small object. It was a wicker doll, about the size of a clenched fist.

"It's a Human Effigy." She said. "Take a closer look… Who do you think it's supposed to be?"

The old woman held it out to him, and he stepped forward. She dropped the Human Effigy into his hand, and he looked at it.

"Think back, deep into your past." She said.

He thought far back, as far as he could go. He looked at the Effigy's face, and he felt something in his rotten cheek twitch.

"...Me...?" He asked.

"Yes, it's an effigy of you." She replied.

He looked at it for a moment, unsure of what to do, but, once again, he knew. He slowly clenched his fist and crushed the Effigy in his hand. It flashed brightly, blinding his sensitive eyes.

When he looked down, the Effigy's remains were gone. He felt...

Stronger.

He looked towards the old mirror above the fireplace. His skin was smooth and a pale white, the color of pine wood. He walked closer to the mirror, leaning downwards slightly to observe his features.

His eyes were a violent shade of cobalt, and his hair was the color of driven snow. His lips were rather thin, his nose a little bit large, and his ears were somewhere in the middle. He raised a gauntlet to his forehead and touched his skin. The metal felt cold as he ran it up into his blinding white hair, touching his equally white eyebrows on his way up. He put his hand lower on his face. No facial hair.

He had always wanted a short beard, he remembered.

He...

He remembered.

He looked to the old woman. He knew who she was. Or, at least, what she was. He knew a firekeeper when he saw one.

"All people come here for the same reason. To break the curse." The Firekeeper said. "You're no different, I should think?"

There was a pause. The Firekeeper looked Oderon up and down, obviously with some doubt.

"Well, you never know." She said. "Go through the door and trot along to the kingdom."

He looked towards her with a silent _thank you_ and walked towards the door.

"But remember, hold on to your souls. They're all that keep you from going Hollow." She said. She chuckled and shook her head. "Oh, I'll fool you no longer… You'll lose your souls… All of them. Over and over again. And if you finally get to where you need to be... Where you want to be...

... You'll have much to worry about that isn't the Curse of the Undead."

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><p><strong>Hey there Wolfgangpossible Wolfgang/random passerby!**

**Don't worry, this story is one that I can actually get somewhere with. My Dishonored fanfic isn't easy to write for, namely due to the fact that I can't remember literally anything about Dishonored, but I think that a Dark Souls II fanfic could be entertaining.**

**Have a good day!**

**~Husky**


	2. Majula

The warm light of the forgiving sun broke through the clouds in a terrific stream, casting shadows shaped like all sorts of different things across the terrain. Oderon sheathed his sword, one that he had now grown quite accustomed to, and lowered his shield to his side. He raised his hand his hand to eye level in order to block the sunlight from his sensitive eyes and face, the latter now covered by his steel helmet once again. The sunlight soaked land that stood before him was a breathtaking sight. The grass underfoot was the color of fire, and the craggy cliffs that looked over the black ocean below were covered with magnificent, natural patterns and shapes that no human hand could make.

As he walked down the dirt path, he caught a glimpse of a figure standing on the cliffs, across the field that lay before him. As he continued to walk, he began counting his steps. His mind was unoccupied, so this seemed like the perfect thing to do.

_One, two, three..._

He reached the Cliffside and sat down. Someone had started a bonfire. He moved close, as to warm up his cold armor. Although the sunlight was shining, the air was cold and bitter. The beauty of this location lied to its weather.

A butterfly flew past his face. Something about it interested him. He made a light grab for it, but stopped. He reached out his pointing finger, and the butterfly landed on it. It fluttered its wings and crawled upside down around the metal glove, then got bored and flew away. As he watched it fly away, something else caught his attention.

The figure that he had seen while approaching the place he now sat had an eye turned on him. As soon as he saw, the person looked away. No matter. He believed that everyone reveals their intentions soon enough. He just had to wait.

And so he waited. And he waited longer, still.

After a few hours, the figure's only movement was to straighten the hood they were wearing. The shape of the figure's hands were distinctively feminine, and bore human skin. For the ammount of time that she had been standing there, she must have been waiting for something.

Or someone.

He noticed that time didn't change in this world, or at least in this location. The sun had hung in the same position ever since he had sat down, and he knew that was not scientifically possible. He didn't know how he knew, he just did. He let out a heavy breath, and its warmth let out a cloud of fog into the icy air. He decided that waiting around in front of a fire would help nothing, and he stood, armor clanking. The woman looked back once again. He caught her glance, but this time, she didn't look away nearly as quickly.

He walked to her side and looked to the eternally hanging Sun in silence. He took a glance at her, and was surprised by her beauty. Her skin was pale and fair, and her hair the color of fresh blood. The woman's visible eye was brown, the other hiding behind her crimson hair, so, using his common sense, he deduced that her other eye was brown, too.

"Are you... The next Monarch?" She asked. "Or merely a pawn of Fate?" Her voice was soothing, like the sound of a flute.

Oderon cocked his head to the side, not understanding the question.

"I can sense it. You are the successor to the throne." She said. "The One who will rule."

She looked up to him, and he looked back. "Bearer of the curse... I will remain by your side. Till this frail hope shatters."

"...Why?" He asked.

She took a moment to find her answer.

"The Undead Curse has existed since the beginning of time. Long ago, legends were told, about great individuals who have been given the curse..." She said. "But in every tale, they've fallen along the way. I believe you can survive."

They looked back towards the Sun. Oderon shifted his eyes to the ever-waving sea and let this sink in. He could be human again. Not by some dark magic, or by crushing a little wicker doll. Really, truly human. If this woman believed that he could end an eternity-long curse and rule a kingdom just by looking upon him, he had no reason to object. If nothing else, then it would fill the empty hours that he would otherwise spend thinking about what little he knew for sure.

He knew that he shouldn't think like that, but it really wasn't a lie.

"Take this with you. May it ease your journey." She said, reaching to a length of twine circling the leather belt that she was wearing.

The woman held her hand out to him. A small green glass bottle, filled with some sort of concoction. He grabbed it from her hand gently and examined it. Engravings of faces were etched into the glass, barely visible from the wear and tear of consistent handling. It was filled with a fluid that resembled liquid gold. He uncorked it, and a lovely scent wafted from its rim. It smelled of roses, and something else that he couldn't quite place. Caramel, maybe? He went to take a sip, but the woman stopped him.

"Only drink from the flask when you find yourself at death's door." She said. With that warning, she stepped back. "Go on, and see the King. He who made Drangleic what it once was; he who peered at the essence of the soul... King Vendrick."

He re-corked the flask and looked up to her. Under his helmet, he gave her a grin that she couldn't see, glad for her help.

Eerily, she smiled back.


	3. Uncontrollable Want

_Five hundred and twenty-seven, five hundred and twenty eight, five hundred and twenty nine..._

As he stalked through the dark underbelly of the Cardinal Tower, Oderon continued to count his steps. He had been doing so since he had been approaching Majula, and he didn't see any reason that he should stop. It comforted him, knowing just how far he had come. The flooring below him was made of stone bricks, and each brick was chipped on both edge and corner. Down below, off of the side of the walkway, lie dead bodies of Hollows and humans alike, all burning down to bone from the raging fires that had risen up around them. The stench was awful.

That was something he had noticed from his short journey so far. No, not the stench. He noticed tiny details without the slightest effort. The dust falling from the wall as he gracefully stepped past, the drip of water from the ceiling. For some reason, nothing, no matter how trivial or insignificant, got past his notice. Earlier, he had been fighting a small group of Hollows, in the forest. They weren't difficult adversaries, but they were mischievous, nonetheless. One of them played dead, and he slaughtered the others. When he turned, the Hollow had moved its leg the slightest bit to the left, and he had noticed it in an instant, bringing the blade of his sword down on the undead's forehead. He had no clue how he did it, but he certainly didn't question it, as it could be a very valuable skill in the coming journey.

But did he have what it took to lead? That was the true question. The woman he had met in Majula, whom introduced herself after another short while as The Emerald Herald, had told him that she would stay by his side 'till the end. He didn't doubt himself, certainly not. But the way that she had pledged herself to him without question... there was something odd about her.

Not that he had anything against the girl, not at all. There was no room to judge another if one did not know themselves, but she was definitely different. Not in a bad way, but not exactly in a good way either. He couldn't put his finger on it. She said that she could sense leadership inside of him, but how could she do that?

He had much to learn from this strange place.

A Hollow that he had seen while walking down the hall had gotten up while he had been thinking, and was approaching him. Just as it crept up to his back, he drew his sword and made a swift, deadly stabbing motion under his arm, piercing the Hollow's heart without even looking at it. He ripped the blade upwards and out as the Hollow fell to the ground like a burlap sack of rocks, cleaning his bloodied blade on the fur and leather pauldron of his right shoulder.

He kept going, never missing a beat.

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><p><em>Six hundred and four, Six hundred and five...<em>

He approached a stone entryway, a gate of iron bars hanging above the arch. Outside of the gate sat a man clad in leather and chainmail, looking rather bored. As Oderon approached, the man, whom he realized bore a very large spear and shield, took notice of him. He was clutching a sharp white rock in his right hand, throwing it up and down and catching it as he sat in front of the gate. The rock looked as though it was engraved, what with all of its indents and elegant patterns. Around the head of the rock, a light brown string was tied, and a small pendant made of polished silver hung from the string's end. It intrigued Oderon.

He got very close to the man, within talking distance, and sat down. After a brief moment of silence, the man greeted him.

"Hello, there." He said.

Oderon nodded in his direction. There was an awkward moment of silence, but the man broke it once again.

"Travelling all alone, in these treacherous times?" He asked.

Oderon nodded, staring at the stone. It glistened in the light as the man held it in his hand.

"Well, I hope you have a very good reason." Pate said. As he said it, he grinned. "Oh, hogwash, who am I to judge...?"

He tossed the stone up into the air and caught it with the other hand. Something told Oderon that he needed that special little rock. He wasn't sure what, but the need was there.

"My name is Pate. I journey hither and thither, on a sort of… treasure hunt, you might call it." He said. "Coins, gems... the works. Most recently, I found this little thing."

He held up the stone in his hand, holding it by its sides as to show its front. "I've only a slight clue what it is used for, but its presence is... intriguing. As if I... need it with me." He said, his face blank.

"Would you trade for it?" Oderon asked.

"You feel the need, too, eh? The pull? As if the stone is calling you?" Pate responded. "I'm sure of it. I'll tell you what. Do you see that entrance there?" He asked, pointing to the gate. "It's a trap."

This Pate was a curious individual. Like all others in this world, he seemed different. Unique. As if he was a blade of grass floating in a dark and unforgiving sea.

"I'm not sure myself of what the trap could possibly be for." He responded, after a brief moment. "The thing is, I know that there's some sort of treasure near the top. It's like a sixth sense. Fetch it for me, and I'll give you the rock. I would do it myself, but... well, you understand."

Oderon perked up. The proposal was intoxicating, as if he was being promised the world for a simple task. He drew his sword, standing up, and turned to the gate.

"So you'll do it then? Fantastic." He said. "I knew I could trust you. Somehow, I just knew."

He chuckled gratefully as Oderon stepped through the gate. He was going to get that stone. He knew now that he needed it for something. He wasn't sure of what, however. It was like the rock was pulling itself towards him, and himself towards it.

A few steps in, the gate slammed down with the enormous, mind-jolting sound of steel against stone, closing him off from Pate and breaking the intoxicating trance. He looked behind him, not expecting the sudden noise. As if he... hadn't noticed the gate falling.

He looked over his shoulder, to Pate. "I did say that it was a trap, didn't I?" Pate said. His friendly grin had been replaced with a malevolent deadpan, his fingers pushed against one another like that of a general plotting his attack. "Of course, I didn't say that there was a way out." He said, standing up.

Oderon slammed his bracers against the bars, disgusted. He backed up, breathing like an angry dog. Through Pate's eyes, Oderon was a terrifying sight at this moment. The adventurer he had tricked only moments ago was filled with the crimson fury of a thousand dying stars, and his blood red eyes, shadowed by his helmet, shone through in the light.

"The pull that you felt on this stone? Just a simple magic trick. A scroll I picked off of a corpse. Nothing more, nothing less." Pate said.

"When I escape, your soul will scream without end." Oderon said. There was a sharp tone of heartless and bitter anger in his voice.

"Well, it's a good thing that you won't escape, then." Pate said. "I checked the entire area down to the smallest detail. There's only one weak spot, but you'll never be able to get through it."

"What is the point of this _game_?" Oderon asked coldly.

Pate's eyes glistened with what could only be that of a psychopath's lack of empathy. "The point?" He asked. "Simple...

...I like to kill."

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><p><strong>We all know that Pate is insane. Psychopathic. Out of his head. Just like his friend, Creighton of Mirrah. You know, infamous serial killer and whatnot? Yeah, what a pair!<strong>

**Have a good day, Wolfgang.**

**~Husky**


End file.
